


Dark Wind

by Lassarina



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: F/M, Nightmares, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:31:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassarina/pseuds/Lassarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She stays the night with him, and dreams ill dreams.  He is unsure what to do when a fiend has nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Wind

At first, she will not stay the night with him.  Though she comes to him for coupling—he would not call it lovemaking—and leaves him almost too exhausted to remember to breathe, she does not sleep beside him as a mortal woman would.  He is not certain she sleeps at all; the wind is never completely still, and she is the very nature of wind.  Like the sudden summer storms of Baron, she is there and gone again whenever the whim strikes her.  He does not mind overmuch.  He can lose himself in the moment while her claws score his back and she breathes sinful promises in his ear.  It is another thing altogether to trust her in sleep.  He does not think he could endure waking next to her and thinking, upon seeing the mass of blonde hair, that at last Rosa had chosen him, only to realize his mistake when Valvalicia bared her fangs in a mockery of a smile.

He wonders where she goes when she has left him; though the Elemental Lords have chambers within the tower, they do not appear to require rest or sustenance in the way that mortals do.  She leaves as she came, in a crash of doors and swirl of wind; for hours after the tower will shake as in a portentous gale, the wind screaming beneath the windows as though it mourns an unspeakable loss.

He takes far longer than is strictly necessary cleaning his weapons and armour after Fabul.  His nerves are throbbing in agony at Golbez's punishment for his weakness, and he is trembling in sheer exhaustion.  He forces himself to ignore both these things, and instead focuses utterly on honing the edges of his spear so sharp that when he tests its edge with his thumb, his blood runs down the point and drips on the floor almost silently, much as Cecil's blood had stained the tiles of the Crystal Room earlier.

He smells her before he sees her.  First is the reek of a charnel house, and the smoldering of embers, and lastly a whiff of salt-tainted brine overlaid with the freshness of mountain air.  She has been with her brothers, no doubt plotting some mischief to wreak on Baron.

Before he can rise to his feet, she seizes his arms in clawed hands and jerks him up sharply, spinning him round and bringing the force of storm-winds to bear.  He crashes into the wall, rapping the back of his head sharply and grimacing at the pain reverberating through his skull.

"Poor little human," she mocks him, her long blonde hair lashing in the wind that ever surrounds her, its ends striking him like tiny scourges.  "Lost in _feelings_ for his pathetic little friend."

He grits his teeth and tries to ignore her.  The winds intensify, and she grips his chin tightly in her claws as she turns his face back toward her.  He can feel her claws pierce the skin, can feel the sting and the itchy trickle of blood.  "Will you have nightmares, I wonder?" she croons, and her eyes are wide and bright with malice.  "Petty little human dreams of petty human fears?"

He knows she does this to goad him, and yet, it is a relief to let his temper surge to the fore and govern his actions in place of cool reason.  His hands come up almost of their own volition to grip her shoulders and he turns fast, slamming her into the wall and hearing her wild laughter.  He can do this only because she permits it, because it amuses her to let him handle her thus.  It is no less satisfying for the implicit permission, or so he tells himself.

"What do you dream of, fiend?" he asks her, leaning in close to bite at the side of her neck.

Valvalicia laughs and supports herself somehow midair as she grips his shoulders tightly with clawed hands and wraps her legs round his waist, her mouth against his cool and dry with the sharp points of her fangs pressing against his lips.  "I do not dream," she says, and rakes her claws down his chest, shredding his tunic.

He knows she is no flesh-and-blood woman, but this shape she has chosen to take upon herself is close enough; if he does not look too close, the long blonde hair and grey eyes might belong to Rosa, though of course he would never touch Rosa thus.  His feelings for her are pure and true, nothing like his base and dark desire for this creature of wind.  And yet, there is somewhat about Valvalicia that draws him in a way Rosa never can; perhaps it is the violence that seethes just beneath her surface, or perhaps it is simply that he has ever been drawn to high places and fierce winds; it was but one reason he chose the Dragoons when he joined Baron's military.

Her claws digging into his shoulder recall him to the here and now.  "Your mind wanders, Dragoon," she says, and nips sharply at his ear.

It is never gentle between them; more a battle than a joining, with each struggling for advantage.  Tonight she permits him to win more often than not, laughing when he slams her into the wall with enough force that it would have hurt a mortal woman.  For her part, she is relentless, and though he would not admit it on pain of torture, he relishes her focus and drive, the force that could leave his bones scoured of flesh and baking in the sun did she wish it.

When they have finished, she shoves them both away from the wall and, borne upon a cloud of air, they settle upon his bed.  "Do your human women prefer to sleep in your bed?" she asks, and he detects naught but simple curiosity in her tone.  She prods at the pillow and runs the edges of the blanket through her fingers, studying it as though it is some new creature presented for her inspection.

"Some of them," he answers, and stops himself from reaching out to toy with the ends of her hair as he might have done with his bedmates in his life before this.  "Have you never lain with a human before?"  The question is out before he can think to stop it.

She faces him, eyes narrowing, and he keeps himself from flinching only by sheer force of will.  Then a faint smile touches the corners of her mouth.  "I confess I mostly found humans boring," she says.  "Though they do scream most entertainingly when I flay them alive with my winds."

He absolutely will not think about that, about what she could do to him if she ceased to find him amusing.  He wonders if even Golbez's strict orders would prevent her from harming him.

In another of her endless shifts of mood, she leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips.  It is gentler than most of her caresses.  "I would indulge my curiosity this eve," she informs him firmly, and lies back, taking up most of the pillow and far more than her fair share of the mattress.

He bites the inside of his lip to hold back a smile that he is sure she would misinterpret, and instead inclines his body in the best bow he can manage while seated.  "As you wish."

She props herself up on her elbow, studying the blanket with a frown.  "Why so much extra cloth upon the bed?" she asks.  "Does it not get in the way?"

"It keeps you warm when it is cold out," Kain explains, bemused.  He had not thought an Elemental Lord would be so puzzled by the trappings of human life.

She blinks, then shrugs and lies down once again.  "I do not think I have ever truly slept," she observes.  "Is it pleasant?"

"It can be."  Kain lies down as well, making sure to leave her plenty of room.  He is perched on the edge of the mattress, but that is preferable to accidentally brushing against her in the night and having her mistake him for a foe.

She peers at him.  "That does not appear comfortable," she says.  "Do not humans sleep closer together?"

"I did not wish to intrude," he replies cautiously.  She sighs, a sound like the gust of a spring breeze, and scowls at him.

"Do as you would with one of your human women," she says impatiently.  "I find myself curious."

He moves closer to her and drapes his arm over her, hesitating to move too close; she has never been one for closeness before, and he cannot help but wonder what is driving this sudden curiosity.

Now that he is no longer distracted, he can feel the sting where her claws have pierced his skin, and the dull ache of his earlier punishment.  He closes his eyes and thinks of Baron spread out beneath his gaze, as it is when he stands upon the highest tower: a glorious patchwork of fields and orchards stretching out as far as he can see, with the wind rustling around him.  It should have been his, and not Cecil's.  As every night, he falls asleep amid a mental recitation of the reasons why Cecil has betrayed him.

He wakes amid a tempest.

Valvalicia is thrashing upon the bed, her shape flickering from woman to tornado and back again.  The entire room is caught up in the gale, furniture and martial accoutrements flying about with fine disregard for their safety.  She is whimpering, making strangled animal noises in her throat as she lashes out.  He avoids a vicious slash from her claws, and wonders if it would be better to wake her, or merely to flee the room.  She lashes out again, backhanding him across the cheek, and he tastes blood.  Snarling an oath he learned in the army barracks, he grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her.

She comes awake in a rush, hissing and striking out with her claws.  He throws up his arms to defend his face, and cannot help a grunt of pain when she slices through his skin as easily as she had his tunic earlier.

She pauses, mostly in her woman-shape now, and studies him intently.  "Dragoon?"  Her voice is hoarse.  The winds in the room have not stopped.

"It is I," he says, ignoring the blood that drips from his arms onto the bedsheets.

She pulls her hands back, and the winds abate.  The furnishings crash to the ground, most of them cracking upon impact.  His spear clatters down and skitters across the floor.  They sit there, staring at each other, neither speaking.  At length he raises his hand and touches her bare shoulder gently, much as he might a human lover.  She rises from his bed and leaves the room without another word.

They do not speak of it again, but thereafter she treats him with a modicum of courtesy, and is not quite so savage in her dealings with him.


End file.
